


Coping

by Starofwinter



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9248678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starofwinter/pseuds/Starofwinter
Summary: Killer has learned how to cope with his defects.





	

Killer.   He should be proud, he got a  _ name _ today, handed down from the instructors.  It’s an honor, or so he’s been told.  The mocking tone as they say it, though… that’s what sticks in his throat and makes his chest tighten.   _ Killer _ .  He isn’t a killer.  He should be.  He was bred to kill, that’s what they tell him.  

The next sim is about to start, and he’s hidden away in a storage room, where no one will think to look for him.  It’s silent and it’s almost peaceful, save for his harsh, panicked breaths as he curls in on himself.  He was bred to fight; if he doesn’t, he’s a defect.  A mistake.  They’ll recondition or terminate him.  Maybe it would be better that way… he’s tired of feeling like this-   _ No _ .  No, he can fight, he just needs to get himself under control.  

His shaking hand slips into one of his pockets, feeling for the blade he has hidden there.  He pilfered it ages ago, and he keeps it sterile - as sterile as he can, anyway - and perfectly sharp.  It’ll do exactly what he needs it to do, and then he’ll feel better.  He shrugs off his shirt and places the small blade to his bicep, right below the healing scars of the last time he’d done this.  As he drags it slowly across his arm, the calm that overcomes him brings a welcome numbness.  He’s outside himself for a little while.  He’ll be able to run the sim like this.  He won’t be as good as his brothers, but he’ll do it.  He’s still shaking, but it’s with a heady rush instead of the breathless panic from before.  He makes a second cut before he wipes his blade and hides it away again.  For a moment, he watches the blood run down his skin, tilting his head curiously.  It doesn’t bother him, not when it’s his own blood he’s drawing.  

He shakes off the haze, just enough to pull on his shirt and armor, and he steps out to meet his squad at the sim.  The armor hurts as it presses on the fresh cuts, but he can ignore it.  It’s a welcome distraction, and it will keep him from thinking too deeply about the simulation.  It will let him be a _killer_ , for a little while.


End file.
